What Price Friendship?
by Devan Dev
Summary: When I was watching The Die is Cast, I couldn't help but wonder how much more meaningful the scenes on the Romulan warbird would have been if it had been Bashir instead of Odo on board. Bashir, Garak.


This isn't exactly a story, more of a character study. When I was watching "The Die is Cast," I couldn't help but wonder how much more meaningful the scenes on the Romulan warbird would have been if it had been Bashir instead of Odo on board. Frankly, I can't see why Garak would have any qualms about torturing Odo at all, but watching him weighing his friendship for Bashir versus his desire to return home would have been much more interesting.

* * *

What Price Friendship?

Garak watched the Human through the shimmering force field of his cell. Tain's instructions were quite clear. There was little doubt what he must do. Professionally speaking, this would be easy -- the doctor was a thin reed of youthful innocence just waiting for a strong hand to break him -- and yet. . . . how could he do such a thing? To his only friend during an unspeakable time? But he must. And he would.

The only outward signs of his unease were a slight tightening of the shoulders and a momentary closing of the eyes, invisible to the casual observer, glaring beacons of emotion to those in the know. Julian -- no, the Human, he corrected himself -- would awaken from the sedative shortly. Precious little time to forestall the inevitable.

* * *

Soon, now -- too soon -- Ju-. . . the Human would regain consciousness. The guard would tell him immediately. Damn the guard.

His quarters were too small. He felt claustrophobic. There was no room to pace, no room to vent the forces building inside him, and no room to hide from them. No release, no escape -- for either of them. Both were trapped by his dreams of home, victims of a desire strong as any addict's compulsion. Both were doomed by the same hand -- his.

He snorted sharply, angry with himself. How morbid, how sentimental. . . and how stupid. This was not a friend. This was a prisoner, a being with information the Cardassian Empire needed, information Tain needed. He realized, again, how much Tain's acceptance meant to him. He would do _anything_ to rejoin his people, to be allowed to serve them once more. Nothing, _nothing_, would stop him, not friendship, not innocence, and certainly not the Federation officer confined below. Nothing.

The guard called.

* * *

The first thing he saw were the eyes: big, brown, and completely guileless. The flash of hope on the trusting face at the sight of a familiar figure. The beginnings of a smile. . . . Garak felt his heart constrict within him.

"Garak. . . ."

"Doctor," he smiled his professional smile, the one he used in his shop. "I do hope your stay has not been uncomfortable?"

Bashir looked confused. "Garak? What's going on here?" Distressed. "I don't understand."

"That's quite all right," Garak told him generously. "Allow me to explain. Do you know where we are?"

Bashir's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "The Romulan ship?"

"Very good!" His tone was mocking, the presence of the Romulan guard making the guess obvious. "I always said you were an extraordinarily bright Human, lamentably underappreciated by your peers."

"Garak." Annoyed, angry. "Tell me what's going on. Now."

Garak beamed at him. "Why certainly, Doctor. I wouldn't dream of keeping you in suspense any longer," he paused, remembering Tain's words to him -- "perhaps I should have the Romulans conduct the interrogation" -- and continued. "This is indeed the Romulan ship, and as you can see, my status here is somewhat different from yours. Do you remember Enabran Tain?"

The name surprised Bashir, the matching face appearing abruptly before his inner eye. "Vividly. Why?"

Garak smiled, almost openly, letting some of his genuine enthusiasm show through. "He's here, on this ship, and he's offered to take me back." The Cardassian's eyes shone. "I can go home. . . ." Recollecting himself, he elaborated. "But given the history between us, it is regrettably necessary for me to prove myself to him; and you, my dear doctor, are the means by which I intend to do so."

Bashir stepped back, startled. "Me? What can I do?"

"You can tell me about the Founders."

His statement was met with simple confusion. Innocent still. How quaint.

"You can tell me how to recognize them, how to scan for them when they disguise themselves, how to track them. In short, you can help us kill them."

Garak couldn't keep the smile from broadening on his face. The picture of shocked innocence staring back at him was really quite amusing. This Human still didn't get it. Ah well, what did he expect? Cardassian perceptiveness?

"You can't be serious. I don't even know Odo's basic physiology, much less that of his people. And you can't really expect me to help you kill any sentient being." Bashir drew himself up. "I'm a doctor."

No, he thought sadly. You are a victim. Nothing can change that now. Garak nodded, the decision made for him by circumstance, by Bashir's unsurprising resistance, and by the forces of his Cardassian soul.

* * *

"Well?"

Garak stood stiffly, not meeting Tain's eyes, trying to keep the mixed emotions of his heart from showing on his face. "As we expected, he claims ignorance. He insists that not only does he not have the expertise we require, but that he would refuse to use it even if he did."

"I see." Tain watched his former aide closely. "You know what to do."

Yes, he knew what to do. "I will begin immediately."

* * *

"Well, Doctor, so sorry to keep you waiting."

The man's head snapped up with his friend's return. "Oh, that's quite all right, Garak. I wasn't going anywhere."

What's this? A sense of humor? How brave. Surely he knew what Garak intended. Surely he could guess, at least a little, what was in store for him.

Garak paused before releasing the force field, studying his subject. Bashir had been in there the better part of a day and Garak knew for a fact no one had given him anything. He must be hungry. He noted an involuntary swallow, a licking of lips. Thirsty, too. Good. It was always helpful to have the subject's biology working against him. He would have to ensure there was no sleep for this one tonight. Ruthlessly, he squashed the momentary stab of pity buried deep in his chest. Perhaps they could stay up together, he thought with a touch of irony. It didn't look like he would be sleeping well either.

"Doctor, I really do think you should reconsider. This experience isn't going to be pleasant for either of us. Why put yourself through it?"

Bashir stood, angry. "Dammit, Garak, _I'm_ not putting me through anything. You are! Or you're going to, all because I won't tell you something I don't even know." His gaze dropped, his voice sinking. "I thought you were my friend." Looking up, he added desperately, "Please don't do this to me."

It took every ounce of commitment Garak had to answer that plea, every hope and dream pushing the words out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, Julian," he murmured quietly, almost whispering. "But I have no choice, no choice at all."

He released the force field and went inside.

* * *

Dully: "I don't know."

Relentlessly: "What type of scan parameters are most effective?"

Repeated: "I don't know."

Garak sighed. They'd been at this for hours and it was going nowhere. He'd tried to help this stubborn Human. Tried to simply wear him down. Tried to grill the answers from him rather than take the other options available to him, but it wasn't working. The only words Bashir's mind seemed capable of forming were "I don't know" and it was beginning to get on his nerves. Fine, if that's the way he wanted it, Garak would be only too happy to oblige. He turned to the guard waiting outside the cell.

"Bring me the implant."

Bashir's head came up at that and he looked questioningly into his interrogator's eyes.

"Implant? Garak, what are you going to do?" Uncertainty. The beginnings of fear.

Garak let his annoyance show, hoping to intimidate the young man into cooperation. "It seems to me, Doctor," he started crossly, "that I fail to command your full attention. I think a little - stimulation - might focus your thoughts more readily upon my objective." He gazed into Bashir's eyes meaningfully. "I don't think I need to tell you, I don't want to hear 'I don't know' ever again."

He watched Julian pale, swallow nervously. The man glanced away, then back, frightened. He began to fidget in an already uncomfortable Cardassian seat. Good, this was working. The guard returned, accompanied by two of his fellows. At Garak's nod, they dropped the force field and entered the cell, approaching the doctor directly and trying to pin him in the chair.

Too quick for them, Bashir was on his feet, backing up rapidly and scanning the room for a means of escape. Naturally, there was none. Two of the guards simply strode up to him and took hold of his arms, wrenching them behind his back, forcing him to straighten painfully. The third held an odd-looking instrument and a knife. Julian couldn't take his eyes off the sharp blade.

The Romulan brought the tip to the uniform of Bashir's right shoulder and used it to cut a large hole in the fabric, exposing the pale skin beneath. Without preamble, he placed the bizarre instrument against the muscle below the collar bone and activated it. Julian twisted in pain, held tightly by the guards, as the implant sank deep into the tissue of his chest.

As quickly as they had assaulted him, they withdrew, leaving him standing at the back of the cell, shaking. The guard with the insertion instrument handed Garak a small box on his way out.

"There," he said soothingly. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

In actuality Garak had been entranced. The muted violence, the near-panic on his friend's face, the bulging eyes and hiss of pain as the instrument had done its work, all served to excite him in the old, familiar way. Oh yes, now he remembered why he'd been the best interrogator in the Order. Why he had commanded respect in a difficult field. It was the process not the information that he loved, the almost orgasmic feeling he got when dominating another. Even better that it should be his beautiful doctor. For the first time, he found himself hoping Bashir wouldn't give in, or really didn't know the required information. His eyes glittered predatorily.

Bashir was standing by the far wall, eyes fixed in shock on his tormentor. Garak could see the dawning of understanding wash across his face and laughed -- a loud, ugly sound which made the man flinch. He thought the doctor was trying to phase through the wall as he got up and approached him.

"You enjoyed that," Julian whispered accusingly, horror warring with disgust on his handsome features.

Garak's eyes widened and he smiled savagely, leaning close to the frightened face and savoring the sound of shattered innocence.

"Oh yes, Doctor. Considerably. You're going to be _much_ more entertaining than I'd have thought possible." He listened tolerantly as the man made a last ditch effort to appeal to their friendship.

"Garak, please. It doesn't have to be this way. You don't have to hurt me. You're better than this. Surely this isn't how Cardassians treat their friends?"

Garak's deafening laughter withered Julian on the spot.

"Friends?" he barked. "Is that what you think we are? My dear doctor, you're a Human and I'm a Cardassian. You are my prisoner and you have information I want. Does that make us friends?" Garak's tone was glacial. "How could I possibly consider friendship with such an inferior species given the presence of my own kind? Why would I want to?" He smiled with satisfaction at the sudden brightness in the young man's eyes, the rapid blinking as he tried to control it.

"No," Julian answered quietly, the tightness of his throat making speech difficult. "I suppose that would be unreasonable."

Breaking away, his point made, Garak returned to his seat. Having stripped away the last of his subject's emotional support, this should be much easier. A pity, really, in a way. Resistance was quite stimulating.

"Come here, Doctor. Sit down."

Reluctantly, Bashir complied.

"Now," Garak began seriously, toying with the box the departing guard had given him, "tell me about Changelings."

* * *

Garak sat quietly, waiting for the Human to answer his question, staring motionlessly as the silence dragged on. He'd used this technique before, in the old days, on people with good reason to fear the Order and had found it a simple and effective way to intimidate. He was not surprised to see it working on his inexperienced subject.

Bashir's eyes flicked uncertainly from Garak's face, to the floor, the wall, and back again. He was caught like an insect in a spider's web, trapped by the question, knowing the only answer he could give was completely unacceptable. Briefly, an image from an ancient twentieth century movie flashed through his mind, a fly with a Human's face, trapped in a web, pitifully crying "Help me! Help me!" as the giant arachnid came closer. Funny, Garak didn't look like he could extrude silk from his posterior. Julian caught the incipient smile just in time.

Like many people, he used humor as a defense, a buffer through which to mellow the harshness of the outside world, and knew Garak did, too, but now it would be a dangerous liability, an irresistible invitation for abuse. Nervously, he glanced at the box sitting on the table in front of his companion. Would Garak really use it? What would it feel like if he did? Could he really stand up to Cardassian torture?

He knew the answer to that: No. Unfortunately, he had no way to avoid it; he simply didn't have the information Garak required of him. And he couldn't get the stubborn Cardassian to listen. He allowed the sudden anger he felt to show on his face and was gratified to see Garak frown in confusion. Now there's a thought: Perhaps he could bluff his way out of this.

Garak, for his part, had been watching Bashir closely. The nervousness and anxiety he'd understood, provoked in fact, but as his subject's face briefly mirrored amusement, worry, and then anger, he'd become increasingly uncertain this tactic would work. He knew anger was a natural reaction to fear, the cornered animal psychology at work, but it was somewhat out of character for this person. Bashir often got angry certainly, but usually for legitimate reasons, because someone had hurt him or one of his patients, but as a reaction to the unknown it was unusual. Bashir's next words caught him off-guard completely.

"Garak, I hadn't realized you could be quite this stupid."

Garak blinked, not entirely sure he'd heard correctly. "What did you say?"

Bashir frowned, as if talking to someone not quite as smart as he'd like them to be, and tried to soak his voice with disdain. "You heard me."

Garak was dumbfounded. He'd thought he had his victim on the run, but now it seemed Julian had decided to bare his teeth and fight back after all. Garak really couldn't have said if this was a bad thing or not. For the Empire it was most certainly a setback, but as a challenge to his skills as an interrogator it provided a stimulating opportunity. He remembered how Bashir's earlier defiance had aroused and excited him, and was honestly pleased with the chance to indulge himself again, but a small, deeply buried part of him sighed sadly with the sincere regret of inflicting further harm on his friend. He tried again to smother the little voice and succeeded, but somehow he knew it would be back, for despite his earlier words to the Human, designed to crush his psyche, he really did care still for his ultimate welfare. Silently, he cursed his weakness; he hadn't always been so soppy. Time to squash this sudden rebellion.

Picking up the box, Garak regarded Bashir coldly. "Perhaps you'd care to explain yourself, Doctor."

"Perhaps you'd care to lend me some child's blocks so I can spell it out for you. You certainly haven't been capable of understanding plain Standard so far." Bashir actually looked annoyed.

When Garak's eyes began to narrow dangerously, Julian figured he'd gone as far as he dared.

"Garak, I've been trying to tell you -- ad nauseam, I might add -- that I don't know the kind of information about Odo you're looking for. It shouldn't be this hard to believe me. You know I'm an awful liar and if I had discovered anything of significance, I'd probably have published it by now." He sniffed contemptuously. "That's what research doctors do, you know." His sudden smile startled the Cardassian. "Probably would have won a prize for it, too."

Garak felt his own irritation building, and a seed of doubt. He realized, with something approaching conviction, that it was really very likely Bashir was indeed telling the truth. Unfortunately for the doctor, it just didn't matter; Tain would never believe him without the proper persuasions and it was a test of Garak's loyalty that he administer them. In many ways the information was secondary, they could proceed without it; it was the test that was the real point behind this exercise and it was past time he showed his subject what he was really here for.

Again, Garak smothered the voice threatening to impose Federation moral values on him, values that would bar him from his homeland forever were he to listen.

Without answering, Garak moved his hand slowly to the box and picked it up, all the while watching Bashir closely. A widening of the eyes and the quiet intake of breath were enough to encourage him to press the button. The doctor's bluff had failed because he just didn't understand the rules of the game Garak was playing. He would spend the next minute paying for it.

* * *

Slowly, his head began to clear and sounds other than the pounding of his heart in his ears could make themselves heard. His breathing became less desperate and his mind gradually reacquired the ability to form words and carry cohesive thoughts. In short, he came back from the near-oblivion to which Garak had sent him.

His first thought was to register surprise: Garak had pushed the button after all. His second thought was more ominous. He would do anything to prevent that from happening again. With despair, he realized that had he known something of value to the Cardassians, it would not have taken much more to make him begin to cooperate. He was appalled to discover how little he could protect his friends. Feelings of fear and shame began to eat away at his will to resist.

Garak sat quietly, watching the Human recover. It was interesting to watch the realization of the true nature of his predicament dawn on his face. Perhaps he was only now coming to believe that, yes, he really was going to be tortured by Garak for whatever ends the Cardassian thought necessary. Despite their earlier exchange, Garak knew Bashir hadn't abandoned the hope that their friendship would mitigate his circumstances, that Garak wouldn't be able to go this far or cause his former friend serious damage. The understanding that this was not so was no doubt devastating and painful. And not just for Julian.

As Garak continued to wait for his subject to reenter the land of the cognizant, he felt strangely deflated. It wasn't like this before. Then it had excited him, driven him, focused his attention in a way he hadn't felt in years, not since his days in the Order. Now, as he watched Bashir's rapid breathing slow and deepen, his face against the floor, eyes closed still but unclenching as his body relaxed, he had to stifle a sudden urge to go to the young man, comfort him, gently knead the stress from his shoulders and back. The image horrified him. What was wrong with him? Why was he fantasizing this way? If Tain could see into his mind, he'd be shot dead before he could open his mouth to explain; assuming, of course, that he even had an explanation.

This was intolerable. He really must get a hold of himself. All right, it's true then, he did care for the man. More than he'd realized. But would he sacrifice his future in an attempt that could, at best, only delay the inevitable? If Garak couldn't break him, Tain, or one of his Romulan 'friends,' most certainly would, and at Garak's expense. He was not about to let that happen. I'm sorry, Julian, it's either you or both of us, and I'm not going down with you. With an effort, he wrenched his mind back to the matter at hand.

"Well, Doctor, I trust I've made my point?"

Julian's eyes cracked opened, brown focusing with difficulty on blue. He spoke slowly, as if forming words were an effort.

"Garak, this doesn't change anything. You can keep me writhing here on the floor all day, I don't know what I don't know. Why can't you believe me?" He sounded forlorn, a small voice lost in the violent jungle. It tore at Garak's heart, causing its own brand of pain. Again Garak fought the sudden impulse to protect, the strain making him savage.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Doctor. I'm afraid you'll have to do a bit better." Time, he needed time. "Perhaps a few hours to reflect on your situation will provide greater clarity of thought."

He motioned to the guard, Tain's guard, who would undoubtedly report this entire encounter to his superiors. He must be strong.

"Bind him."

The guard nodded in perfect understanding. This was a common technique, used for centuries by many species, including the peoples of Earth in their more barbaric days.

Quickly, he produced a length of thick cord and a pair of manacles. Entering the cell, he approached Bashir, still lying quietly on the floor, and spoke without inflection: "Kneel."

When the man simply stared at him, not quite comprehending, the Romulan's short, hard kick made him gasp and curl in on himself. It was all Garak could do to remain seated, apparently an impassive observer to what he himself had ordered. The desire to attack was almost overwhelming.

"I said 'kneel.'"

Slowly, lest his inaction cause even more pain, Bashir levered himself onto his hands and knees. Grabbing his collar, the Romulan roughly pulled him back on his haunches and ordered him to place his hands behind his back. One end of the cord secured them together. He grunted with surprise when he abruptly found himself on his face again; the Romulan had pushed him down in order to fasten the manacles to his ankles. Garak watched as the free end of the cord was passed through a loop in the ceiling and pulled tight. With an effort, the Romulan hauled Bashir off his face and shortened the cord until he was upright, on his knees, his arms pulled almost horizontal to the floor behind him, then tied it off.

Julian's cry of pain as he'd been lifted off the floor by the force of his shoulder joints had driven Garak almost to the brink again. As he continued to sit, looking at his friend's twisted face, sweat beginning to form at Julian's hairline and on his upper lip, he began to feel the same excitement that had driven him earlier, the same intense urge to go further, inflict more pain. With surprise he noted the hardening bulge in his trousers and wondered at the multitude of reactions the doctor had managed to provoke in him today. Truly, he didn't understand himself anymore. He had to get away and think this through. Let the stress of his binding continue to work on his victim's resolve, let the pain wear him down while Garak tried to sort this out before it could interfere with his investigation further.

Casting one more glance at the unfortunate man, he unconsciously licked his lips, then left.

Julian saw nothing but the floor in front of him.

* * *

Garak was in his too-small quarters again, trying to pace. It had only been less than ten minutes, but somehow it seemed like hours. Tain was waiting for his report, he knew, but there was no way he could face his former mentor now, not with this unresolved confusion filling his mind. What was the matter with him? Why was he alternately turned on then repulsed by the violence being inflicted on one harmless Human? And more important, how the hell was he going to fulfill his mission to prove his worth to the only Cardassian who could reinstate him among his people?

Involuntarily he groaned, for he knew now that he simply could not do it. He didn't have what it took anymore. Look how one man, completely unable to resist him, had breached his defenses and brought him to this pass. One know-nothing Federation doctor, frail, naive, idealistic, beautiful. . . abruptly, he stopped. Beautiful? Had he really thought that? Beautiful? Julian was beautiful? His mind whirled in confusion and an inexplicable fear.

Yes, he did think Julian was beautiful. For that matter, he also found Lieutenant Dax attractive, and when Major Kira had been given the likeness of a Cardassian female, well, she'd really been quite breathtaking, but why would his observation of Julian's beauty be so devastating? What was the difference?

Cardassians didn't share the same-sex prejudices common among Human societies. In fact, they found them somewhat bizarre; what did it matter who your sexual partner was if offspring were not the desired objective? But while the thought of a coupling with Dax or Kira was appealing, the idea of being with Julian was enough to ignite the fire between his legs again. He frowned at the sudden bulge.

Was that it? He was lusting after Julian Bashir? That would explain a lot, but somehow, as an explanation, it left him unsatisfied. He'd lusted after many beautiful people before, even ones consigned to his tender mercies when he was still a skilled interrogator, and he'd never reacted like this. Certainly, his job breaking enemies of the Cardassian state had had its rewards; he'd often found it quite stimulating. Cardassian sex had a tendency to be what many humanoids would consider a bit on the rough side. Their relationships often followed a dominant/submissive theme with the one in charge occasionally inflicting considerable pain on the other in the throes of their combined passion. Looking at it from that viewpoint made the job of interrogating an attractive subject a real pleasure, even a privilege, so why was he having these ambivalent feelings towards his latest 'partner'? If he was attracted to Julian Bashir, this should be fun, not the wrenching experience it was turning into.

Garak finally sat down, a little tired, and tried to understand himself. Idly, he pictured Julian as he was in the cell right now, suffering, and it both aroused and nauseated him. Again he felt the urge to return and continue torturing his beautiful friend. How he strained at the thought! The image of the dark young man twisting in his bonds, struggling against the pain and frustration as Garak alternately teased and tormented him, was almost enough to make him come in his pants right then and there. But it was tempered with the thought that this wasn't what Julian wanted. That for him, this was not a sexual game, but rather a life or death matter with all the attendant fear and mistrust that entailed. Even he could understand that sex would always take a backseat to survival.

So Julian would not enjoy Garak's game. So what? Did it really matter? And suddenly, there it was, the answer that had been eluding him all this time. Oh God, he was doomed. Tain would never take him back now because he truly wasn't worthy. He was nothing, certainly not the Cardassian he had been, and why? What had brought him to this pass? The answer was both noble and pathetic, for he suddenly realized what had brought him so low -- his love for the beautiful young man brutally tied on his knees in the interrogation cell.

* * *

Julian was exhausted. At first it had been his shoulders, forced unnaturally up and behind him, making the tendons along the front of his arms burn with strain, that had dominated his awareness. As that pain was gradually replaced with a welcome numbness, the pressure he was placing on his kneecaps became more and more demanding. Now it was agonizing as he tried to alternate between putting his weight on first his left leg then his right, almost desperate in his need to just sit down. Being unable to separate his feet made it impossible to attempt standing.

There was little he could do but maintain his position and endure. He tried to concentrate on the sweat dripping unevenly from his nose and chin, but as a distraction it was woefully inadequate. Then he tried thinking of medical procedures, how to treat this or that ailment, but again, it just didn't work. He was in pain and no amount of mental juggling could allow him to forget it. Damn Garak. Why was he doing this to him?

He knew why. Enabran Tain had offered him a way out, a way back to what he had lost, and it was irresistible. Garak would sacrifice anything, even him, to return to Cardassia, and Julian couldn't find it in his heart to blame him. He couldn't even imagine what it would mean to be exiled from DS9, away from Jadzia and the others, unable to be what he was, a doctor, and irretrievably separated from his own people. He'd always had a great deal of sympathy for Garak and what he had to endure, but at the moment that sympathy was wearing a bit thin. Please, just a few minutes' rest? Pretty please? You can have my first born. . . .

"Ah, Doctor, enjoying yourself, I see."

Garak was back! Thank God. Perhaps he'd let him down now. Anything was preferable to this, even the implant. Where was that box, anyway?

He heard Garak release the force field and enter the cell, then nothing. Apparently he was just standing there, watching him. Come on, Garak. Please. Let me down.

"Ask Tain to come down here. I require his input."

Julian heard the guard leave. Suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, gently kneading them, and Garak's breath was tickling his ear.

"Ask no questions, Doctor. It's time we were leaving." The voice paused, allowing the sense of the words to penetrate. "I'm afraid I just don't belong here any more."

The End

Summer 1995


End file.
